


The Curious Case Of The Boy With The Raven Hair

by Sabrina_Sparrow



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: A whole lot of Johnlock, Bullying, Dating, Drinking, Drugs, Eating Disorders, First Love, First Time, Foreplay, Highschool Drama, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, More Johnlock, Puppy Love, RST, Romance, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sex, Sexuality Crisis, UST, domestic abuse, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabrina_Sparrow/pseuds/Sabrina_Sparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the new boy - Sherlock Holmes - joins Greenwood Academy, he steps on almost everyone's toes, including those of John Watson, head of the rugby team, throwing the boy into an awkward sexuality crisis. High school drama ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Kid

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm new here. I've been on fanfiction for the past few years under the pseudonym of Sabrina Sparrow - very similar to my name on here. I will continue to write for fanfiction as well as on here, probably some of my stories will overlap at some point. Anyway, like I said, this is my first story on here, I'm just finding my feet, and I really hope you all like it!
> 
> Feedback is always more than welcome!

_Bring cigerettes. Mum nicked all of mine. – JD_

_What? No. Piss off. – JW_

_Come on, you tosser! – JD_

_No, Jev. I don’t smoke anymore. – JW_

_What?! Tell me you’re kidding. – JD_

_No. I don’t smoke anymore. It’s bad for your health. –JW_

_Pussy. – JD_

_Shut your face. –JW_

_PUSSSSSSAYYY! – JD_

John rolled his eyes and shoved his phone in his pocket. He was in no mood for Jev’s antics today. He checked himself in the mirror before he left. Jeans, polo shirt, rugby jersey, converse – check.  Scruffy blonde hair – check. Cheeky grin – check.

He was ready to go.

He ran downstairs, plucking his backpack from hallway. “Bye mum!” He called.

“Have a nice day, love!” She called back from the kitchen.

“See you tonight!” He shut the door behind him and ran out to his car – a beat up little Ford KA – and got inside. He set the old thing in gear and set off down the road for Greenwood Academy. He hated school, but it wasn’t so bad in sixth form-the higher education section. No uniforms, short days, no maths.

Perfect.

He parked up in the school parking lot and propelled himself out of the little car, running for the building. If he was late he would miss the Cheerleaders practicing early in the gym.

“You’re late.” Jev said as John came running up to him. “You missed them stretching.”

“Fuck.” John grumbled. He looked up at his best mate. “Was it good?”

“Mary did the splits.”

“What kind of splits?”

“Banana.”

“ _Fuck_.” John groaned, leaning back against the lockers.

“Did you bring cigarettes?” Jev asked, leaning beside him.

“No. I told you I don’t smoke anymore.”

Jev scowled at him. “You were being serious about that?”

“Yes. Don’t really want to die of lung cancer, thanks.”

“Pussy.” Jev grinned.

John sighed. “Shut up.”

“Pusssayy.”

“You should quit too.”

Jev shook his head. “Naw, I’m not a pussy.”

John punched Jev in the stomach, something he felt was well-overdue. “Shut your ugly face.”

“Prick.”

“Twat.”

“Gorgeous!” Molly giggled to the other cheerleaders as they passed out of the gym past John and Jev. “Oh, he was absolutely gorgeous!”

“What did he look like?!” Pressed Sarah.

“Oh, he had the most gorgeous green-blue eyes! And his hair was raven black and all curly!”

“No boy is that gorgeous, Molly. Get real.” Irene Alder, head cheer leader pushed past them all to be at the front of the group.

“Oh but he is!” Molly insisted. “He’s tall and he’s got broad shoulders, and—”

“Who are you talking about?” Jev called over to them.

Molly looked over at him. “The new boy! He’s—”

“Gorgeous. We know. Change the record.” Sally mumbled.

John blinked. “There’s a new student? In our year?”

“Apparently so, Johnny boy.” Irene grinned at John. “Jealous?”

“No.”

“Interested?”

_“No.”_

“John aint no queer!” Jev snapped, jumping to his best friend’s side.

“Do you mind?” Irene drawled, lazily. “I find that term offensive.”

Jev arched an eyebrow.  “Would you rather I call you a dyke?”

“Why you little—”

“It’s him!” Molly squealed.

John looked to where Molly was pointing, and against his will he let out a soft, “Whoa…”

Irene arched an eyebrow. “I suddenly think I might be bisexual…”

“I told you!” Molly squealed. “Isn’t he _perfect?_!”

“Looks like a freak.” Sally mumbled.

Mary came up and stood next to John.  “Looks like you’ve got some competition.”

He looked down at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Excuse me.”

John looked round and craned his neck up. He realised with a start that he was looking up at the new kid. God he _was_ tall. John couldn’t help but stare for a moment. Tall. Dark, tousled, black hair. Alabaster skin. High, prominent cheekbones. Unfathomable blue-green eyes. “What?” John blinked.

“You’re in the way of my locker.” Said the boy.

“Oh… oh right…” John mumbled and shuffled out of the way. He stood back and dragged his eyes over the boy. He was wearing fitted black jeans, a crumpled white shirt – that still somehow looked good – and a black leather jacket. He was wearing the same converse as John. “Sherlock.” John said, a little dumbly.

The boy- Sherlock – turned away from his locker and looked at John. “What?”

“Sherlock. That’s your name. It says on you bag.”

Sherlock smirked. “How… _observant_   of you.”

Jev scowled. “What kind of name is that? _Sherlock_.”

“Be quiet, Jev. Your input is irrelevant.” Irene snapped. “It’s _different._ I like it.”

“Me too!” Molly chimed in.

Sherlock finished putting his books in his locker and turned, only slightly startled by the small group looking at him. “Can I help any of you?”

“Oh, yes you _can_.” Irene grinned.

“Alright! Alright!” Jev stepped into the inner-circle to standing front of Sherlock. “Can we all please just calm the fuck down? Yeah, he’s new, and yeah he’s okay-looking, but seriously? Look at him! He’s a complete—”

“Jev!” John warned. “Watch  your mouth.”

“Look at him! He’s a fag!”

“I said shut up.”

“Why are you being so defensive?”

“I’m not. I just don’t condone bullying.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and all eyes went to him. He looked at John. “Thank you very much for your help, but I can handle myself.” He looked at Jev and smiled sardonically.” A D-grade average student doesn’t scare me.”

Jev glared. “You want to shut your mouth, mate.”

“Or what?” Sherlock frowned at him. “Are you going to throw your remedial math books at me?”

“Fuck off, mate. You don’t know me.”

“On the contrary…” Sherlock’s gaze raked over Jev, taking in his height, build, smarmy appearance, squished face, strawberry blonde hair and green eyes – and all of the other things that normal people, idiots, couldn’t see. “… I know you very well.”

“Oh yeah?” Jev hissed.

“Yes. I know you’re in idiot who is getting through school on the hope that he’ll get into a sports collage. You don’t work, you rely on the EMA money the sixth form centre here supplies you with, not to mention the few odd bob that you steal from your mother’s purse when she isn’t looking. Your mother? Hm, takes off her clothes for money, alcoholic, drug addict. Your father? Well who the hell knows where he is? But let’s be glad he’s gone, eh? Not nice having an abusive parent, is it? Don’t really suppose he’d enjoy having a bi-curious son—”

Sherlock was silenced by a fist smashing into the side of his face.

“NO!” Molly screamed.

“Jev!” Irene barked.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” John snapped.

Jev ignored them all and pushed Sherlock back against the lockers and began assaulting his face with fists and elbows.

“Leave him alone!” Molly screamed. Mary stepped forward and took the almost-crying girl into her arms.

“Jev! Get off him!” John yelled, trying to pull him off.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING _DARE_ TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!” Jev roared, pummelling Sherlock into the lockers. “I’ll FUCKING _KILL_ YOU!”

“JEV! ENOUGH!” John shouted and grabbed the bully by the scuff of his neck. He yanked him backwards and held him off Sherlock. “Leave him alone!”

Molly was rushing to Sherlock’s aid, dabbing the blood off his face with her blouse sleeve. “Oh… oh, are you okay?”

“Fine.” He mumbled, gently pushing her hands away.

“LET ME FINISH HIM OFF!” Jev roared.

“You take one more step towards him, Jev, and _I’ll_ finish _you_!” John warned.

Jev paused and looked down at John. The boy may be short, but everyone knew better than to get into a fight with him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I fucking would.”

“Why are you standing up for him over your best mate?”

“I told you, I don’t condone bullying.” He shoved Jev back. “Go on, we’re going to be late.”

Jev paused for a moment. He glared at John, and then at Sherlock. Then he stalked off.

John turned and looked at Sherlock. “Sorry, mate, he’s always like that.” He held out a hand to help him up. “You learn to ignore him after a while.”

Sherlock stared at John’s hand like it was the most repugnant thing he’d ever seen. He turned his stony glare upon John. “Thanks. But like I said, I don’t _need_ your help.” He struggled to get to his feet, blood dripping onto his white shirt.

John faltered. “Oh… Well, I just…” he trailed off.

“Do me a favour?” Sherlock hissed. “Leave me alone.” He pushed past John and the crowd that had formed, and stormed away.

No one spoke, everyone just stared after him. Finally Sally broke the silence. “Told you he was a freak.”


	2. ShutterSmith Descends

John couldn’t help the guilt that was slowly seeping into him as he sat at his desk. Sherlock had gotten beaten up and John had more or less just stood and watched. Who was he to outwardly condone bullying and then let Sherlock get beaten to a pulp? He groaned and let his head drop to the table with an audible smack.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” A voice rumbled from behind him.

John looked up, eyes widening. “Sherlock?”

He smiled down at John, sardonically.  “Hello.”

John blinked. “You… you look…”

“Visited the school nurse.” Sherlock explained. “So I’m _all_ better now.” His tone was spiteful and sarcastic and it made John cringe away.

“Right.” John nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

Sherlock snorted. “No you’re not.”

John blinked. “I—”

“This seat taken?” Sherlock interrupted. “There’s nowhere else to sit.”

“Uh… well, not really…”

“Good.” He dumped his bag down onto the table and sat down. “Hello partner.”

John just stared.

Sherlock sighed and turned his attention to the front of the class. “Idiot.”

John scowled at the taller boy. “Oi! I know you’re upset with me, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like crap. Jev was the one that set upon you, not me. I’m the one that stopped him. There’s a way to talk to a person, and mate, that’s not it.”

Sherlock blinked, shocked. He quickly regained his look of cool indifference. “Alright, calm down. Pull that stick out of your arse.”

John bristled. “You know what? Sod you. Sod you and your stupid little smirk, and your rotten attitude. You know what you are? You’re a bully. Not like Jev, not physically. You’re verbally abusive. And I’ll tell you what, you’re no friend of mine.”

 He stood up to leave when a voice boomed out from the front of the class, reverberating against the walls. “JOHN WATSON! SIT DOWN!”

John cringed. Bad timing to be seen getting out of his seat. Shuttersmith was a stickler for rules and regulations, and people staying in their seats. “Uh… Professor Shuttersmith… I was just….”

“Come here boy.” The Professor demanded.

John swallowed, nervously, and walked to the front of the class. “Yes, Sir?”

“You’re meant to be a good student, Watson.” Shuttersmith snarled in his face. “But yet again you disappoint me.”

John stared up into the Professor’s face, teeth gritted. God he was an unfortunately ugly man. His face resembled that of a pug’s. His eyes were a snot-green colour and his buck teeth jutted out over his fat lower lip. His fiery ginger hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead and the colour matched his pathetically grown ginger beard.

Shuttersmith continued. “Why is it that you disappoint me so much, do you think, Watson?”

“Don’t know.” John grated out. “I guess I’m just an idiot.”

“That’s right.” Shuttersmith nodded, patronisingly. “You _are_ an idiot. You’re thick as two planks of wood. And why is that, Mr Watson?”

John shrugged. “Because a student is only as good as their teacher?”

Shuttersmith glared at John. “You dare irk me, boy?”

John scrunched up his face in disgust. “ _Irk_ you? I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot barge pole, let alone _irk_ you.”

Shuttersmith looked like he might explode, his thick neck bulging, his face turning an unsightly shade of purple. “Detention, Watson. For a week.”

John’s eyes widened. “What? You can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes I can.”

“No you can’t! That’s unfair!”

Shuttersmith grinned at him, his smile like an open wound. “Tough.”

John could feel himself heating up with the anger that bubbled through him. He stared at the man’s ridiculous beard. “I think you need a shave, Sir.”

Shuttersmith scowled at him. “What? What are you talking about, Watson?”

“You look as though you’ve got a dead cat glued to your face.”

“OUT!” Barked Shuttersmith. “I’ll see you in detention!”

“Professor, it was my fault.” Said a voice from behind them.

John turned to see Sherlock standing and his eyes widened.

Shuttersmith’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Holmes?”

“I provoked John.” Sherlock said, saying the other boy’s name for the first time. “I made him move.”

Shuttersmith waved his hand dismissively at Sherlock. “Hush boy, there is no need to defend him.”

“I’m not defending him, Sir, it’s the truth.”

“And yet, I don’t believe you.”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

The whole class fell silent, staring at Sherlock.

“What. Did. You. Say?” Shuttersmith’s eyes bugged at Sherlock.

“I called you an idiot.” Sherlock retorted. “Sorry, was I speaking too fast for you to keep up?”

“Sherlock Holmes! I suggest you stop talking right now!”

“Why? Can you not understand me?”

“MR HOLMES! I WILL NOT TOLLERATE SUCH BEHAVIOUR IN MY CLASSROOM!”

“Your face resembles a warthog.”

“THAT IS IT, HOLMES!” Shuttersmith spat. “DETENTION! FOR A WEEK!”

Sherlock grinned. “Splendid.”


	3. Detention 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support so far. In return I can't wait to reward you all with lots and lots of Johnlock!

John slumped down in a desk at the back of the classroom. Detention. A whole _week_ of detention. For getting out of his seat, no less. He let his head smack against the table. This was going to be torture.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

John looked up and found himself looking into the unfathomable blue-green eyes of Sherlock Holmes. “You…”

Sherlock’s eyebrows raised. “Me.”

“You’re the reason I’m in here.”

“Yes. And _you’re_ the reason _I_ am in here. So I guess we’re even.” He dropped down in the seat beside to John’s.

John’s eyebrows knitted together. “I didn’t ask you to get yourself detention. You brought this upon yourself.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

John’s frown deepened. “That’s not an answer.”

Sherlock smiled a slow smile. “Problem?”

John was almost on the verge of having a tantrum. “Yes, actually. I’m missing Rugby practice to be here, and it’s all _your_ fault!”

“ _My_ fault?”

“Yes! You drove me out of my seat!”

Sherlock’s smile widened. “I _drove you out of your seat_?”

John scowled at him. “Stop it. Stop grinning at me like that.”

“Problem?”

“Stop asking me that.”

Sherlock laughed and licked his lips. “You make a lot of demands.”

“And you don’t adhere to any of them.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows lifted. “Adhere? Impressive vocabulary for a rugby player.”

John looked at him incredulously. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I just want to go home and have a shower.”

Sherlock frowned slightly. “A shower?”

John frowned back. “Yeah. You know, a shower? Lather, rinse and repeat?”

Sherlock nodded. “Naked, I know the protocol.”

John’s cheeks heated slightly. “Don’t think about me naked, mate. _Not_ cool.”

Sherlock’s face screwed up. “I’m not thinking about you naked.”

“Then why ask about my shower?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I just didn’t take you for a shower kind of guy when I made my deductions about you.”

“Your _deductions_?”

Sherlock nodded. “When I saw you I made a series of deductions and decided upon the fact that you probably had baths rather than showers due to the fact that you play rugby – obviously – and after a long practice you’d probably choose lying in the bath rather than standing in the shower, so you could rest your legs.” He shrugged. “I was wrong. It won’t happen again.”

John blinked. “You’re doing that thing.”

Sherlock frowned. “ _What_ thing?”

“That thing you did to Jev. You’re doing it to me, aren’t you?”

Sherlock’s lazy smile was back. “I’m only deducing.”

John paused. “Right. So what exactly does that entail?”

“I observe you and from that I draw my conclusions.”

John frowned, sceptically. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

Sherlock smirked. “Prove what?”

“Prove that you can really do it. Tell me how you knew all that stuff about Jev.”

“I didn’t _know_. I _observed_.”

“Yeah alright, and how did you do that? Come on, tell me.”

Sherlock sat back in his chair and grinned, ear to ear. “Alright then.  I know he is getting through school on sports alone due to the severe lack of books he was holding. The only book he _was_ holding was his sports fitness text books. I knew he got EMA from the school as he was using a receipt for it as a bookmark, however his clothes are far too flashy to be getting by on EMA alone, therefore he’s getting some extra on the side.”

“And his mother and father?” John prompted. “How did you know about them?”

“The mother, ah, well that was a cheat really. I overheard the cheerleaders gossiping about it. The father? His name wasn’t on the EMA receipt underneath ‘parent or guardian’, there was just his mother’s name, therefore no father.”

John blinked. “And the bi-curious thing?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I just did that to piss him off.”

Despite himself, John was grinning. “That’s… a little bit amazing.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Really? That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do people usually say?”

“Piss off.”

John laughed but it was cut off by the sound of a loud voice booming across the classroom. John turned and saw Professor Shuttersmith walking through the door.

“BE QUIET!” He boomed, spittle flying from his lips and hitting the front row.

The entire room fell silent.

Shuttersmith leered at them all. “Welcome to detention 101. It’s going to be a _long_ two hours.”


	4. A sinking feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all your lovely support so far!

Sherlock nudged John in the side. “Wake up.”

John woke with a start, lifting his head from the desk. “Wha? What?”

Sherlock peered down at him. “Detention’s over. You can stop snoring now.”

John ran a hand through his hair, groggily. “I don’t snore.”

“Yes you do.” Sherlock began to pack up his things into his leather satchel. “And you talk in your sleep too.

John’s eyes widened. “No I don’t… do I?”

Sherlock smirked at him. “Yes you do. So, who’s _Mary_?”

John blushed bright red and turned away to put his books in his rucksack. “No one.”

“No one?”

“Absolutely no one.”

“No one with brown hair, and blue eyes, and the thirty-four double D’s?”

John pin-wheeled to face him. “I couldn’t possibly have said all that!”

Sherlock grinned, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “No, you didn’t. You just said her name and I remembered her as the cheerleader cuddling up to you outside the gymnasium this morning.”

John frowned. “How did you know her bra size?”

“A guess. A bloody good one though.”

“How do you know you’re right?”

“I’m _always_ right.”

John sighed and hefted his bag over his shoulder. “Right.” He looked around and noticed the room was empty. “Where is everyone? Where is Shuttersmith?”

“He left. And so did everyone else.”

John gaped at him. “And you let me sit here asleep for the whole two hours?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t want to sit here alone.”

“You wouldn’t have had to! You could have gone home too!”

Sherlock looked away. “I don’t want to go home.”

John frowned. “Why not?”

Sherlock looked back at John, expression and tone sharp. “Is that any of your business?”

John shrunk back. “No, no, sorry.”

“Good.” Sherlock turned on his heel and strode away, out of the classroom.

John stared after him for a few seconds before his brain kicked into gear and he chased after him. “Sherlock! Wait!” he caught up with him out in the hallway. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait up! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you!”

Sherlock turned to look at John, frowning. “I’m not upset.”

“You look upset.”

“Why don’t you leave the deducing to me, John? No offence but I’m a far cry better at it than you are.”

A voice from behind them interrupted. “Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock turned around to the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He found himself face to face with the head cheerleader. “Do I know you?”

She smiled a slow smile. “No yet.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Darling, everyone here knows your name.”

He scowled. “Don’t call me ‘darling’.”

Irene laughed and stepped forwards, placing her hands on Sherlock’s chest. “Sherlock! You’re so _funny_!”

“Yes, and you’re behaving very heterosexually for a supposed lesbian.”

She tilted her head back and laughed, exposing her long neck. She looked back at him. “I’m open to new options. Especially when they’re as dishy as you.”

Sherlock stepped away. “I’d love to continue this chat, but I… have to be elsewhere…”

She grinned at him. “Alright, I can see you’re so terribly busy. Later tiger.” She winked at him before turning and sauntering away in her absurdly short cheerleader skirt.

John blinked at Sherlock. After a long moment he spoke. “Oh my God… you just turned down Irene Adler! _Irene Adler_!”

Sherlock looked at him. “Turned her down? I wasn’t aware she was propositioning me.”

John’s jaw dropped open. “Are you kidding me? She draped herself all over you!”

Sherlock frowned, genuinely baffled. “I thought she was just being friendly.”

“Play your cards right and she’ll be more than friendly with you.”

Something like excitement sparked in Sherlock eyes, but he contained it well. “You think so?”

“Yes!”

Sherlock shrugged, his face a mask of cool indifference falling into place. “I don’t care. I refuse to be her am-I-gay-am-I-straight experiment.”

John grinned. “I thought experiments would be right up your street.”

Sherlock smirked. “Only when I’m conducting them.”

John laughed. “All right, fair enough. I guess I’m done here then. See you around, Sherlock.” He gave a little wave and turned to walk away.

Sherlock watched John walk away and felt a sinking feeling in his chest. He really didn’t want to go home. “Coffee!” He blurted out.

John stopped and looked back at him. “What?”

 _Shit. Why did I do that?!_ “Um…” Sherlock shifted on his feet. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for coffee...”

John blinked. “What, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Uh…” John looked down at his feet.

Sherlock’s sinking feeling in his chest worsened. “Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to…”

“No, it’s not that...” John sighed, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. “I just… I have to go home…”

Sherlock sighed. “There’s no need to lie, John. If you don’t want to you can just say no.”

“It’s not that—”

“Goodbye, John Watson.” He turned and walked away.

“Sherlock—”

“See you in biology.”

“Sherlock!”

But he was already gone. And John was left alone in the hallway, a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.


	5. Horrors At Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little nervous about posting this, but I look forward to hearing your honest opinions!
> 
> I'm sorry it's a short one, I'm currently directing a show, and it's going on stage this Saturday, so my time is a little monopolised. But after this Saturday, updates will be more regular and a lot longer!
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock opened his front door as quietly as he could, trying to sneak inside and up to his bedroom. No such luck.

“Sherlock Holmes!” A loud voice boomed from the sitting room.

Sherlock flinched like a frightened animal. He shuffled along the hall and hesitantly stepped into the sitting room. His mother and father sat in there, not really doing anything, not even enjoying each other’s company, it would seem. His father sat in a big armchair, dressed in an impeccable suit considering he hadn’t been to work today. In his hand he held a glass of scotch.

His mother sat in the corner of the room in her rocking chair, as usual. She was dressed as smartly as her husband was. She was gazing out of the window with wide eyes, clutching her fourth glass of wine to her chest with trembling hands. She was muttering something to herself.

“Yes father?” Sherlock mumbled, keeping his head down.

Sherlock’s father, Siger, took another sip of his scotch and turned his stony gaze upon Sherlock. “You’re late, boy.”

“I know, father, I’m sorry.”

“You’re slacking. And you know how I _loathe_ slacking.”

“Yes, father.”

“You know what happens to slackers in this family, don’t you boy?”

Sherlock felt as though he were shrinking under his gaze. “I’m sorry, father. I was made to stay behind.”

“Why, pray tell?”

“I got detention.”

Siger paused for a long moment, his eyes raking over Sherlock. “Is that your own blood on your shirt, boy?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And how did that get there?” Siger stood slowly.

Sherlock could feel the fear slowly creeping up his neck. “I got in a fight.”

Siger strode over to Sherlock. “Detention _and_ a fight on your first day at school?”

Sherlock stumbled backwards, trying to keep distance between them. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was provoked.”

“You’ve brought shame upon this family _yet_ again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Look at what you’re doing to your poor mother.”

“I’m sorry.”

Siger pushed Sherlock roughly back against the wall. “You don’t _sound_ very sorry.”

“I am! I swear I—” He was cut off by Siger’s hands around his throat.

“ _Don’t_ raise your voice to me!”

“Father… please…” Sherlock wheezed. “You’re… hurting… me…”

Siger easily lifted Sherlock off his feet and slammed him back against the wall, making the boy cry out. “You think I _want_ to do this? You _make_ me! Why do you _make_ me do this?!”

His mother, Violet, had begun hysterically chanting hymns in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth with force. “Kumbaya my Lord, Kumbaya…”

“I’m sorry!” Sherlock choked out.

“NO YOU’RE NOT! DON’T LIE TO ME!” Siger screamed. He drew back a fist and slammed it into the side of Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock shrieked, his legs giving out. Siger let him drop to the floor.

“KUMBYA MY LORD! KUMBAYA!” Violet shouted the words, spilling her wine all over her lap and not seeming to care.

“SHUT UP, WOMAN!” Siger yelled at her. He looked back to Sherlock who was trembling on the floor. “Get out of my sight!”

Sherlock jumped up and scrambled away. He sprinted up the stairs and locked himself away in his bedroom. Now alone, he covered his face in his hands, sunk to the floor, and sobbed.


	6. Enough Is Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in updating! You know how busy the Christmas period can be - plus I had a ten minute script to write for uni, which was HELL. But nevertheless, I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and new year! Enjoy this chapter- it's nice and long!

When Sherlock woke the next day he was in agony. His back and shoulder blades were aching and bruised from being thrown against the wall. His neck was covered in angry-looking red and purple welts left in the shape of his father’s hands. Breathing and swallowing was excruciating. His cheek was purple and throbbing.

He stripped and looked at himself in the mirror, but all that achieved was making him cry. He’d never cry in front of others, but in the comfort of his own room, it didn’t matter. He dressed in tight black jeans, a black shirt, and donned his black leather jacket.

He ran downstairs – his father would be long gone by now – and ran into the living room in search for his bag and shoes. He walked in, ignoring his mother who was lying on the sofa, mumbling things to herself, slipped his shoes on and snatched up his bag. He left without saying goodbye.

* * *

Sherlock wished he’d had the good sense to wear his scarf to hide the blatantly obvious hand marks on his neck. People were pointing and whispering. He held his head high and walked over to his locker, pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Hello.”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder turning the side of his face that wasn’t bruised. It was John. “Oh. Hello.” He turned back to putting his books in his locker.

“How are you?” John said, brightly, not aware anything was wrong.

“Fine.” Sherlock mumbled into his locker.

“Oh good. Well, I’m good too.”

“Splendid.”

John coughed, awkwardly. “We have biology next. I thought we could, you know, walk there together…”

Sherlock sighed. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

John frowned. “Do what?”

“Try and make up for shooting me down in flames yesterday. Don’t let your own guilty conscience trick you into thinking you want to voluntarily spend time with me.” He closed his locker and finally turned to face John.

John’s eyes widened in shock. Sherlock looked like he’d been beaten black and blue. “Christ! What the hell happened to you?!”

Sherlock inwardly cursed himself, but outwardly remain calm. “Hm?”

“Who beat you up?” John demanded, a little more forcefully than he should have.

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“You look like you’ve been strangled!”

Sherlock scowled at him. “Why do you care?”

“Because I don’t want to see you get hurt!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go to biology, okay?”

“Sherlock!” John huffed. “This is serious! If someone is beating you about then I—”

“It’s really none of your business, is it?!” Sherlock snapped, raising his voice.

John shrunk back, holding his hands up in defence. “Alright, sorry!”

Sherlock closed his eyes and counted down from five, mentally calming himself. He opened his eyes and gave a tight smile. “Right then, best get to biology.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

John paused for a few moments before running after him. “Sherlock! Wait for me!”

* * *

John looked at the dead frog on the table in front of him and unenthusiastically prodded it with the scalpel.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him. “It’s dead, John, stop torturing it.”

John prodded it again. “What if it’s not dead? I don’t want to be cruel.”

“How many frogs do you know who take naps on their backs?”

John looked at him. “I don’t know. How do _you_ sleep?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up.”

John grinned and looked back at the frog. He prodded it yet again. “What am I meant to be looking for?”

“The heart.” A pretty voice spoke.

John looked up to see Mary smiling down at him. She was wearing a pretty shade of pink lipstick today. He flashed her a cheeky smile. “Oh, and you’d know a lot about that subject, would you?”

“I happen to be an _expert_.” She smiled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and snorted. “Doubt it.”

Mary looked over to him, trying not to scowl. “Sorry, Sherlock, what was that?”

Sherlock looked up at her. “Oh nothing. You continue to go about your tactless flirting.”

John kicked him underneath the table. “Mary, I like your nails.” He nodded to her sparkly pink manicure.

She beamed at him and laid her hand across his, wiggling her fingers so that the nail polish caught the light. “Thanks. I thought you might.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at her. “You assumed John would like glittery pink nail varnish? Honey, if that’s the kind of guy you think John is then you’re barking up the wrong bush. Literally.”

“Yeah, well _I_ really like them,” John said, loudly, shooting a glare at Sherlock.

Professor Shuttersmith looked up from his desk. “What’s all the noise back there? Miss Morstan get back to your seat.”

“Yes Sir.” She looked back to John. “See you around.”

John watched her walk back to her seat. “Yes I will.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. “You’re pathetic.”

John looked at him. “How am I?”

“Pink lipstick and a set of double D’s and you’re smitten.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s a bit true.”

“What about you and Irene?”

Sherlock scowled at him. “What _about_ me and Irene?”

John smirked at him. “Are you telling me that you’re not in the slightest bit interested in her?”

Sherlock shifted in his seat and looked down at the dead frog. “I barely know her.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t like her.”

“I _don’t_ like her.”

“I think you do.”

“I _don’t_.”

“Well isn’t that a shame.” A soft voice interrupted.

Sherlock jumped out of his skin and locked eyes on Irene Adler. “You.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Me.”

Sherlock was momentarily flustered. “Don’t… don’t you have a dead frog to dissect?”

She shrugged. “I don’t care for cold, limp things.”

Sherlock actually blushed. “I… you…” He cleared his throat. “We’re not supposed to be out of our seats.”

“And yet here I stand.”

“I wish you’d go find somewhere to sit.”

Irene sat on the edge of the desk, her thigh brushing Sherlock’s hand. “Better?”

Sherlock snatched his hand away. “No. Leave me alone. I have work to do.”

“I’m sure Johnny Boy won’t mind if I steal just a _few_ minutes of your time.”

John shook his head, enjoying every moment of this. “I don’t mind one bit.”

Irene nodded her head towards Sherlock. “What did you do to your neck?”

Sherlock stiffened. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Well it is, so shut it.”

“It looks like hand marks…” She reached out to touch it.

Sherlock jerked back. “Don’t.”

John looked between Irene and Sherlock. Irene was smirking in delight at getting one up on Sherlock. Sherlock looked like he might burst into tears at any moment. John stood up and glared at Irene. The games were over now. “Enough, Irene.”

Irene looked at John. “I’m just having a bit of fun.”

“It’s not fun unless _everyone_ is having fun. Go and sit down.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Watson.”

“Actually, I think I can. You may be head cheerleader, but I’m the rugby captain, and honey I’ll have you and your pompoms for breakfast if you don’t do as I say. Now go and sit _down._ ”

Irene glared at him for a moment before getting up and stalking off to her seat.

John was silent for a moment before sitting and looking at Sherlock. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock looked at him. “Yes, I’m alright. Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

John shrugged. “You looked upset, that’s all.”

Sherlock laughed. “I don’t get upset.”

John arched an eyebrow. “No?”

“No. I get even.”

John smiled. “Fair enough.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, looking at the dead frog. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”


	7. Shirts Vs Skins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much everyone for being so patient! You're all so amazing! Thank you!

“Basketball! Shirts vs. skins!” Coach Cuttle yelled over the chatter of the boys. “Line up and be assigned to a side!”

The boys groaned and stood in a long line. Sherlock felt a part of him die inside. He was in no way, shape or form an athletic person. And he couldn’t play basketball to save his life.

“Team captains will be… John Watson… and Jev Dempsey.” Coach called out.

Jev grinned and clapped John on the back. “Brilliant. I love a chance to thrash you, mate.”

“Shut your face.” John smiled, giving him a rough shove.

“Come forward and pick your teams.” Coach ordered.

Sherlock inwardly groaned. He already knew how this was going to happen. He wouldn’t get picked until last and then the two Captains would argue about not wanting him on his team.

“I want Moran.” Jev barked.

Sebastian Moran came bounding over to Jev and high-fived him. “Good choice, mate.”

John rolled his eyes and looked at the line of boys. He saw Sherlock standing at the end of the line, trying very hard to be invisible, and his heart lurched. “Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock looked up at John in shock. “What?”

“What?!” Jev howled. “That freak? Do you _want_ to lose? Fucking hell!”

“Language, Dempsey!” Coach Cuttle barked.

Sherlock looked at John, shaking his head. “No. He’s right. You don’t want me. I’m awful.”

“Don’t care.” John smiled. “It’s only a game, it doesn’t matter.”

Sherlock looked around himself helplessly. “But… I…”

“Hurry up.” Coach snapped. “We only have an hour.”

Sherlock sighed and joined John. “You’ve made a mistake. You shouldn’t have picked me.”

John shrugged. “I bet you play just fine. Plus, you’re tall.”

“I’m useless.”

John frowned at him. “No you’re not. Why on Earth would you think that?”

Sherlock sighed and wrapped his arms around himself. “I just am.”

At the end of picking teams, on Jev’s side were: Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty, Anderson, and Dimmock. On John’s team were: Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Patch Lamprey and Cam Robertson.

“Alright then…” Coach said. “Jev’s team will be shirts. John, you’re skins.”

Sherlock didn’t understand at first, but when the rest of his team began taking off their shirts he panicked, remembering the bruises, scars and burn marks that littered his torso and back.

John looked at him. “You alright?”

Sherlock swallowed, feeling panic creep up his throat. “I can’t take my shirt off.”

John shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

Sherlock locked eyes with him. “No really, I can’t.”

John studied his face, concerned. “Is it body issues… or…?”

“I just _can’t_!” Sherlock hissed.

John nodded. “Alright, uh… Coach?”

Coach Cuttle looked at him. “What is it, Watson?”

“Um… can we change and be shirts? Some of the lads aren’t comfortable—”

“Is that you, Holmes?” Coach barked at Sherlock.

Sherlock flinched and looked up at the large man. “Well um…”

“For God’s sake, boy! Man up and take your shirt off! Bloody hell!”

Sherlock looked for the second time that day as if he might cry. “Yes, coach.” He said, quietly. He pulled of his shirt.

The room went silent.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself, self-consciously, and looked at the floor.

Jev started to laugh. “Fucking hell! What happened, freak? Get beaten up by a girl? Did some little kids want your lunch money?”

“Shut up, Jev.” John muttered.

Sherlock sighed, his lower lip wobbling. “Coach, may I be excused please?”

“Yes, Holmes.” He said after a long moment.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said, putting on his shirt and leaving the sports hall.

Jev and his team fell about laughing.

“Fucking pussy.” Jev snorted.

John sighed and put his shirt on. “You know, you can really be an arse sometimes, Jev.”

Jev rolled his eyes. “Alright, calm your tits; we’re only having a laugh.”

“Yeah well I don’t think Sherlock was laughing.”

“Who cares about that freak?”

“I do.” John said. He turned on his heel and strode out of the hall.

“Mr Watson!” Coach Cuttle called after him. “You are not excused!”

John ignored him and carried on. He jogged down the corridor and back to the changing rooms. He poked his head inside and saw Sherlock getting changed back into his normal clothes. He was pulling his black shirt over his marred body.

“Hey.” He said softly, trying not to startle him. “Can I come in?”

Sherlock was startled anyway. He jumped out of his skin and turned around to look at John. “Oh. It’s you. Do what you like.”

John let himself in and smiled softly. “I’m sorry about Jev. He’s a dick.”

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed, bluntly.

“And I’m sorry I picked you. The whole thing could have been avoided if I just listened to you.”

“Nonsense.” Sherlock muttered. “You would have ended up with me anyway; Jev wouldn’t have me on his team. Besides, it was nice to be chosen first for once. No one ever picks me.”

John looked at him with soft eyes. “Why not?”

“Because no one wants me.”

“I bet that’s not true.”

Sherlock laughed but it was sad. “It is.”

John watched him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. He knew better than to ask about the scars. “Will you be alright?”

Sherlock nodded and pulled his schoolbag over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Alright.”

There was a long pause.

“Coffee?” Sherlock blurted out, again.

Now it was John’s turned to be startled. “Uh… what?”

Sherlock sighed, wondering what on earth had possessed him to do that again. “Um… I was asking you if you’d like to go out for coffee… again…”

John blinked. “Oh… oh right… well um…”

“You don’t have to say yes.” Sherlock mumbled.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…”

“But it’s still a no, right?”

John scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just… I’m really busy after school.”

Sherlock sighed and nodded. “Fine. Goodbye, John.” He walked past him, exiting the changing room.

John chased him out. “Sherlock, wait!”

He turned to look at him. “What?”

“I… I’m free tomorrow…” John said.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

“I said I was busy tonight—and that’s true. I have rugby practice. But tomorrow I’m totally free.”

Sherlock arched and eyebrow. “You’re suggesting we go for coffee tomorrow after school?”

John nodded. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

Sherlock almost smiled. “Very well. I’ll meet you after school by the main gates. Don’t be late.” And with that he turned and walked away.


	8. Making A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John make an interesting deal with each other, but who knows what it will lead to...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear EVERYONE! Thank you all for being so patient with updates! I've said it once and I'll say it again, university is a BITCH.  
> But I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry if I got any of the biology references wrong, I failed biology when I was in school. Keep pestering me for chapter updates on a regular basis and you WILL get them! Thanks for reading...!

Sherlock waited by the school gates at the end of the day like he’d agreed to, but as the time ticked on it looked more and more unlikely to him that John was going to show up. He was just about to leave when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned and saw John, but he didn’t smile.

“You’re late, John.” He said, bluntly.

John blinked. “No… no, I’m not.”

“We agreed to meet after school finished. School finished approximately seven minutes ago. You are late.”

John laughed. “Wow, I’m so sorry. Are you going to spank me?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and a blush crept into his cheeks. “What a ridiculous notion!”

John laughed again. “Calm your tits, I’m only joking.”

Sherlock frowned. “I’m not a female, I do not have breasts.”

John paused. “It’s an expression.”

“What’s an expression?”

“The tits thing, it was an expression.”

“An expression of what?” Sherlock asked. “An expression of breasts? Does such a thing exist?”

John stared at Sherlock. “Are… are you trying to confuse me?”

“Not intentionally. Is it working?”

“I think so…”

“Good.” Sherlock pointedly looked at his watch. “It is now 3:09. Shall we go?” he began to walk down the street.

John was rooted to the spot for a few moments before running after him. “Wait up!”

“Catch up!” Sherlock called back.

John had to jog to keep up with Sherlock’s impressive stride. “Are we in a hurry?”

“No.”

“Then why are we going so fast?”

“I’m going at a perfectly normal pace.” Sherlock retorted. “You’re just short.”

“You know… I’m buying you coffee, you could be a little nicer.”

Sherlock stopped walking and looked at John. “What?”

John stopped walking too and looked up at him. “What?”

“Why did you say you’re buying me coffee?”

“I thought I was?”

Sherlock’s lips pursed. “You feel the need to buy me coffee?”

John frowned. “No, I was just trying to be polite.”

“You see a few scars on my body and you think I’m from a broken family, right?”

“What?!” John said. “I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to!” Sherlock snapped. “My father is the director of his own manufacturing company, my mother is an educated woman, my brother is at Harvard University and my little sister is beautiful! There is nothing wrong with my home!”

John held his hands up in defence. “Sherlock! I didn’t even _mention_ your family; I was just offering to buy you a coffee! Calm down!”

“I _am_ calm!” He shrilled.

“People are starting to stare! Keep your voice down!” John hissed.

Sherlock laughed, humourlessly. “Embarrassed to be seen with me? The school _freak_?!”

“Right now, yeah I am a little bit, when you’re acting like such a freak show!” John snapped.

Sherlock flinched. “Right… well… in that case I shan’t waste any more of your time.”

John sighed, regretting what he’d said immediately. “Sherlock, no. Please, I didn’t mean it.”

“Goodbye, John.” Sherlock said, turning on his heel and walking away.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, wait!” John shouted after him.

But Sherlock just carried on, pretending he couldn’t hear him, and pretending that the tears in his eyes weren’t really there.

* * *

Sherlock hadn’t spoken to John in three whole days. He’d been purposely ignoring him, and John had been too shy to approach him. So when John was studying his biology textbook in a quiet, secluded part of the library, he was surprised to look up and see Sherlock standing over him with two paper-cups of coffee.

“Sherlock?” He asked.

Sherlock smiled, shyly. “I brought you a peace offering. May I sit with you?”

John nodded. “Yeah… yeah, knock yourself out.”

Sherlock sat and offered John his coffee. “Thank you.”

John took the coffee. “Cheers.”

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke. “John, I’m sorry for my behaviour the other day. It was rude and uncalled for. I overreacted.”

John sipped his coffee and shrugged. “Forget about it. Water under the bridge.”

Sherlock sighed. “I was a raw walking nerve that day. You caught me when I was in a bad mood. I’m sorry.”

John smiled. “Really, it’s fine. You don’t have to keep apologising.”

“Sorry.”

“You just did it again.”

“Oh, sorry.” Sherlock sighed. “I mean… oh, I don’t know.”

John watched him for a few moments. He looked fragile, like he might break at any moment. John swallowed. “So… um… so, you have this lesson free too?”

Sherlock looked up, surprised but glad of the change of subject. “Um… um yes, I do.”

John smiled. “Good, it means I don’t have to study alone.”

Sherlock peered at his book. “What are you studying?”

“Biology. I suck at it.”

Sherlock smiled. “I love biology. I find it fascinating.”

John nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Biology is cool. I just wish I could understand it better. Normally when I ready this textbook I only understand half of what it’s talking about.”

Sherlock shuffled his chair closer. “What are you struggling with? Show me.”

John pushed the book over to him. “At the moment? Mitosis and meiosis.”

Sherlock blinked at him. “But it’s so simple.”

“Not to me.” John sighed. “I can’t tell them apart. I can’t remember what each one does or what makes them different.”

“But it’s really very easy.” Sherlock insisted. “Mitosis is the process of cell division.”

John blinked. “And what’s that when it’s at home?”

Sherlock laughed. “It’s where a single cell divides resulting in two identical cells, each containing the same number of chromosomes and genetic content as that of the original cell.”

John stared at Sherlock. “Oh my God…”

Sherlock frowned. “What?”

“That actually made sense.”

Sherlock laughed. “I told you it was easy.”

“So what is meiosis?”

“A form of cell division happening in sexually reproducing organisms by which two consecutive nuclear divisions occur without the chromosomal replication.”

John nodded. “So that means… it’s like mitosis… but…”

“Yes, you’re getting warmer, keep going.” Sherlock encouraged.

“But it divides by itself, splitting in half, splitting the chromosomes.”

“Exactly!” Sherlock smiled.

John beamed. “I can’t believe you just taught me that! I’m an idiot!”

“John, you’re not an idiot.”

“Shuttersmith thinks I am.”

“Professor Shuttersmith looks like he has a dead cat glued to his face.”

John laughed. “True.” He looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and spotted Irene Alder watching them. “Speaking of felines, look what the cat dragged in.”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and sighed when he saw Irene walking over to him. “Oh, God. It’s _her._ ”

John laughed. “I think she likes you.”

“I wish she’d leave me alone. I never know what to say around her.”

John grinned. “Do you get tongue-tied around all girls, or is it just her that has that effect on you?”

Sherlock frowned. “I don’t get tongue-tied.”

“Talking about me tiger?” Irene said, running her fingertips across the back of Sherlock’s neck as she passed their table.

“I don’t… I mean… You... I…”

She smiled and winked at him. “Catch you later, tiger, maybe later you’ll feel more like talking.” She smiled and bit her glossed, red lower-lip at him and walked off.

John sniggered under his breath. “Smooth.”

Sherlock scowled at him. “We can’t all be Romeos, like you.”

John smiled and leaned back on his chair. “It’s true. I just have knack with women.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Alright, calm your tits.” He paused and looked at him. “Did I use that reference correctly?”

John grinned at him. “Yeah, like a pro.” He paused. “Tell you what. I’m gonna make a deal with you.”

Sherlock smiled. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll teach you how to get with the ladies, if you tutor me in biology.”

Sherlock laughed. “Are you sure you can teach me that? I’m hopeless. I’ve never even had a girlfriend before. I’ve never even had a _friend_ before.”

John smiled. “Well I’m you friend now.”

Sherlock smiled. “Okay then, deal. We start tomorrow.”

John nodded and sipped his coffee. “Tomorrow.”


	9. Shameful Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is trying to tutor John in biology and John is trying to tutor Sherlock in the language of love. Both seem to be struggling...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Thank you all for being patient with the updates, as you always are. Unfortunately we just lost Grandad. He's not hiding behind the sofa or anything, he's dead. He would have appreciated that joke, don't worry. So, as you can imagine, I've been in a bit of a state and I've had a funeral to plan, but it's all over now, and hopefully I can get back to normal. If it's okay with everyone, I'd now like to dedicate this Story to my Grandad. I love you, Pops.
> 
> Thank you  
> xoxo
> 
> P.S. All you Johnlock shippers, just be patient. Johnlock WILL happen!!

“Osmosis is the diffusion of water from a high concentration to a low concentration through a partially permeable membrane.” John recited from memory.

“Good, John!” Sherlock nodded. “Really good.”

John beamed at him. “Did I get it right?”

“Spot on.”

John punched the air. “Fuck yeah!”

Sherlock scowled at John. “Language, John.”

John rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. They were sitting in his bedroom, the house was empty as his parents and sister weren’t home yet. Sherlock was pacing the room, seeming uneasy.

“Sherlock, sit down, you’re putting my teeth on edge.” John sighed.

Sherlock crossed his arms and frowned at him. “We’ve been here for hours. What if your parents come home?”

John shrugged. “So what if they do?”

“They will see a stranger in your house.”

“And?”

“And will you not get in trouble for bringing a complete stranger into the house without their permission?”

John arched an eyebrow. “You mean, will I get in trouble for bringing a mate from school home with me to help me study? No, of course not.”

Sherlock paused. “…You won’t…?”

“No, why would my parents be mad about that?”

Sherlock blinked. “They won’t hit you?”

John’s eyes widened. “What? No, of course not.”

“Really?”

“Yes really.”

Sherlock paused again. “Oh.”

“Why would my parents hit me?” John questioned. “Why would anyone’s parents hit their kids?”

Sherlock looked away, out the window. “I don’t know.”

John hesitated, just watching Sherlock. He suddenly looked very fragile. “Are you—”

“Water cohesion tension.” Sherlock interrupted, not turning around. “Give me the definition.”

“Sherlock…”

“Now, John.”

John sighed. “Something to do with osmosis and plants.”

Sherlock turned to him. “Not good enough. I want a proper definition.”

“Well good luck, because I don’t know it.”

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “How can you not know this? We’ve just spent half an hour going over it!”

John scowled. “Alright, keep your fucking hair on, I can’t help being thick!”

“Stop shouting!”

“You started it!”

“Give me the definition of water cohesion tension!”

“I can’t!”

“It’s how water moves from the roots to the leaf!” Sherlock shouted, getting right up to John’s face. “Osmosis causes water to enter the xylem of roots from the soil! Due to the hydrogen bonding between the water molecules, water forms a string of molecules as it moves to the xylem! Constant transpiration at the top of the leaf pulls the water molecules out of the plant! The differences in water potentials and pressures cause this fairly constant movement of water through the plant, you _fucking idiot!”_

John blinked, speechless. There was a long pause. “Well, there was no need to get so upset over it. It’s only fucking water cohesion tension.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, staring at John, panting. Slowly he began to laugh. He covered his face with his hands, sank down onto John’s bed and laughed.

John started to laugh with him. “I’ve never seen anyone get so mad over fucking biology!”

Sherlock flopped back onto John’s bed, rolled onto his stomach and laughed into the covers. “Shut your face!”

John got up and jumped onto the bed, landing on top of Sherlock. “Make me.”

Sherlock rolled over, laughing, and tried to wrestle John off, but he had him in a tight rugby tackle. “John Watson, behave yourself!”

John poked his tongue out at Sherlock and started tickling him instead.

“NO!” Sherlock shrieked, extremely ticklish, trying to wriggle away. “JOHN!”

John laughed. “What’s the magic word?”

“PLEASE!” Sherlock gasped.

“Say I’m a genius.”

“JOHN, YOU’RE A GENIUS!”

John smiled and stopped, leaning back. “Well, okay then.”

Sherlock panted, struggling to catch his breath. “You’re an ass.”

“Yep.” John climbed off him. “And now it’s time for _you_ to do some studying. Stand up.”

Sherlock stood up. “I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“Nonsense this will be great fun. We’re going to practice your chat-up technique.”

Sherlock’s face fell. “I don’t know how to chat girls up.”

“Well that’s why we’re going to practice now.” John said. “Pretend I’m Irene. Give me your best pick-up line.”

“Um… okay…” Sherlock hesitated. He walked up to John and licked his lips. “Did you know that a group of cats is called a glaring?”

John blinked at Sherlock. “What?”

“What?”

“What the hell was that?”

“It was a fun fact.”

“You decided to open with a fun fact about cats?”

Sherlock frowned, confused. “Girls like cats, don’t they?”

John shook his head. “That’s not the point. The point is you’re meant to woo a girl with your chat-up lines, not bore them to tears with facts about cats.”

“Oh… Sherlock mumbled.”

“Remember, a girl will decide whether or not she likes you within the first fifteen seconds of talking to you. What you say has to _count_.”

Sherlock nodded. “Okay.”

“Try again. No cats this time.”

Sherlock nodded and gave it another try. “Did you know a pig’s orgasm can last for up to thirty minutes?”

John sighed. “Sherlock, that’s not—wow, thirty minutes, really?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Have I successfully wooed you yet?”

John laughed and dragged a hand over his face. “Tell you what, let me give you an example.” He walked up to Sherlock, put his hand on his waist and smiled. “You’re so beautiful I forgot my pickup line.”

Sherlock looked at John. “Excuse me?”

John frowned. “What?”

“How can you criticise me when you can’t even remember your own pick-up lines?”

John shook his head. “No, Sherlock, that _was_ the pickup line.”

“Oh…”

John laughed. “It’s going to be a long night.”


End file.
